


A Good Year

by lilbatfacedgirl



Series: No Locked Doors [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, anecdotal story telling, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 03:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13538400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbatfacedgirl/pseuds/lilbatfacedgirl
Summary: Over the course of a year, Ian and Mickey learn how to live free.





	A Good Year

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of month by month anecdotes about the boys' first year after the conclusion of OFiMS. It utilizes a few different writing styles and perspectives and asks the reader to fill in some blanks and be comfortable with some unanswered questions.

**December 21, 2019**

**3 minutes til midnight**

The beat from the stereo in the living room was drifting up the stairs and through the walls.  If he listened carefully, Ian could just barely make out the lyrics to Kanye’s “All of the Lights” but he really couldn’t be sure.  The only thing that felt truly real right now was the warmth of Mickey’s skin beneath him.

Levering himself up, Ian braced his hands against the mattress in his old room and let his eyes drink in the view.  The brunette was spilled across the sheets, the elegant lines of his back and ass naked and glowing with sweat.  The full lips that Ian loved to kiss were slack as wrecked, desperate cries spilled from between them.  Mickey’s legs were spread wide and Ian could feel the curve of strong calves and ankles hooking around the backs of his thighs and urging him forward.  Long, tattooed fingers were curled around the edge of the mattress, clinging to it like it was an anchor.   Ian just grinned as he let one of his own hands run teasingly over Mickey’s body, plucking at a sensitive nipple, combing through sweat damp hair.  He reached around and pressed a thumb between the perfect lips, smirking as Mickey suckled it franticly.  The brunette’s mindless, wordless moans deepened and he rutted back harder on Ian’s cock, but the redhead only chuckled darkly and let his chest press along the length of Mickey’s spine.

“Not yet,” he teased in Mickey’s ear, running his tongue along the sensitive shell, “I’m gonna fuck this ass into the new year.” He let his weight settle completely, pinning his lover to the bed until the brunette went completely placid beneath him.  Another wicked laugh escaped him as he circled his hips teasingly, loving the way Mickey jolted and clenched around him.

“Like that?” he murmured, settling into the lazy rotation.  Beneath him, Mickey writhed and let his head loll from side to side against the mattress.  

“Yeah,” he managed in a breathless voice. “I fucking love it, you fucking prick.”

The redhead could feel his lips curving into a devious, delighted grin as he nuzzled into the back of Mickey’s neck.  His hands ran up the length of the brunette’s arms, curling over and around the tense digits that still clung to the mattress edge.  Mickey didn’t even hesitate, letting go immediately so he could thread their fingers together.  The simple gesture sent a hot, joyful jolt through Ian’s heart.  

He could be Mickey’s anchor.

The song had changed downstairs and the beat echoed through the floor, loud and forceful.  Ian could feel it pulse through him, through his spine, his fingertips and the head of his cock deep inside his lover’s body.  The tempo of his hips accelerated and his grin deepened as Mickey clenched around him everywhere they touched.  He let his lips wander wherever they could reach, pressing kisses and gentle bites to the brunette’s throat, ears and shoulders.  

Mickey groaned sharply against the mattress and pushed back against his cock.  Without hesitating, Ian reached down, pulling Mickey’s linked hand with his as he grasped the brunette’s chin and drew his head back.  The groan turned to a keening cry as the brunette’s spine arched, drawing his lover’s length even deeper inside of him.   Blue eyes flew open, now nearly black with lust as they sought out Ian’s gaze.  

“Fuck,” he mouthed.

That word went straight to Ian’s cock, too.  The redhead leaned close, grazing his lips along the brunette’s jaw as his thumb caressed one swollen lip.  He stopped the teasing, circling thrusts and pushed sharply inside the brunette’s body, rutting fiercely.  He panted nonsense against Mickey’s throat as the other man licked and moaned around his thumb.  

“Ian!”

Wha?

“What?  Fuck!”

The lust blown fog parted in his brain as Mickey yanked one of his own hands out of Ian’s grasp, reaching back to push at his hips, slowing the frantic movements.

“Don’t,” he begged, a desperate note in his voice, “I can’t...I’m gonna...I can’t stop…Fu…”

Ian lips curled in a twisted grin/grimace combination of amusement and frustration.  A part of him, primal and physical, just wanted to pummel Mickey until they both fell apart together.  He slowed, though, drawing in a deep breath as he pulled out of his lover and leaned back on his haunches.  He ran his hands through his sweaty hair, then reached down to pull Mickey up and against him.  The brunette was still fighting for control and Ian only held him in his arms.  The lines of their bodies melted together as Mickey drew in deep, slow breaths, staving off an impending climax.

Ian could really only grin.  Mickey didn’t want it to end too soon either.  They were like this a lot lately, wanting to fuck and fuck and fuck without end. They’d been doing it all night really, since the moment Ian got home from his shift at eight.  They’d eye-fucked the whole way over here on the El and tongue-fucked against the wall next to the kitchen stairs until Vee had smirked and told them to get a room.  So they’d taken her advice, and been up here ever since.

Below them, the pulsing beat of the music shut off, giving way to the equally loud cacophony of voices as midnight drew near.    Ian barely paid attention, letting his huge hands skim slowly down the planes of Mickey’s chest and torso, until they bracketed his lover’s bobbing cock.  The length of his own shaft was pressed teasingly against the brunette’s perfect ass.  

“You okay?” he asked against his boyfriend’s ear.  

Mickey’s arms shot up, twisting awkwardly but determinedly over his own shoulders.  Ian could feel strong hands wrap around the back of his neck and twine into his hair  as Mickey arched back against him and chased his mouth.  

“I’m good,” he breathed, pulling back, his blue eyes trapping Ian’s gaze.  “Get in me.”

Ian didn’t have to be told twice.  His hands slid to Mickey’s hips, guiding the brunette back down the length of his cock.  The blue eyes fell closed as Mickey’s head lolled back against his shoulder and his fingers tightened and pulled at Ian’s hair.  Their bodies moved in practiced tandem as Mickey rode him gently and blindly chased his lips.  From downstairs, they could hear the faintest traces of a countdown,”...four...three...two…”

“Happy New Year,” Ian whispered, cradling Mickey’s face and pulling him into a firmer kiss.   The movements of their bodies became faster and more erratic as the kiss deepened. 

“Fuck,” Mickey yanked their mouths apart, “I can’t...I  _ have _ to fucking come!”

Ian had lost his words.  He could only nod, pressing Mickey forward as the brunette caught their combined weight on his arms.  Ian followed him down, grabbing Mickey’s hands and stretching them out above their heads.  He pressed their thighs wide, jostling the brunette beneath him until he found the perfect angle.  As Mickey gasped and pressed back against him, Ian laid his cheek against the brunette’s shoulder blade and started to thrust hard.  

Every other thought left his mind as he clung to Mickey and chased their climax.  He could hear nothing but Mickey’s panting beneath him, feel nothing but the heat of the brunette around him.  His entire body was taut, thrusting instinctively as a crest of pleasure built inside him.  With his last rational thought, he slipped both of Mickey’s hands into one of his, letting the other slide beneath the brunette and cup his swollen cock.  

It took only the slightest pressure.  Mickey keened and bore back hard against Ian’s shaft as he spilled. His body convulsed, gripping the redhead and pulling deep groans from him as he continued to move, pressing them down flat against the mattress.  He buried his face into the side of Mickey’s neck, feeling the brunette tighten and clench their linked fingers together.  With a loud groan, Ian sank his teeth gently into Mickey’s shoulder and fell over the edge.  

They laying panting against each other for long moments afterwards, wound tightly together and unwilling to move.  When Ian tried to draw back, Mickey shifted and clung tighter.

“Nhu,” he muttered into the blankets, pulling Ian’s arms around him.

Ian could only smile as he settled back down against the brunette’s back.  “What,” he murmured into his hair, “You haven’t had enough?”

“Nope.” came the simple reply.

Ian huffed against his boyfriend’s throat.  “Really?”   You think you got more?”

Mickey said nothing.  Instead, he ground his ass back against Ian’s sensitive dick. The redhead hissed and jumped, but not before he noticed the twitch of interest the spent shaft gave at the contact.  Underneath him, the brunette grinned and snuggled into the blankets as Ian settled back against him.  Yeah, he thought to himself, they’d be going again tonight.

A raucous dance beat started pumping through the floor from below but Ian and Mickey barely noticed.  Instead, Ian leaned over and pulled Mickey’s face towards him, pressing his tongue between the brunette’s lips.  As he lazily kissed the love of his life, he threw out a prayer to whoever might be listening.  

_ Please, please, please, fucking PLEASE let this be a good year. _

**January 19th**

Ian was just working his hand down the back of Mickey’s boxers when the brunette’s phone chimed on the coffee table for the third time in a row.  

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered as he pulled their lips apart and turned around, leaning over from the couch to grab the stupid thing.  

Ian couldn’t help the aggravated groan that escaped him as Mickey climbed off his lap and began tapping furiously at the little device.  

“I gotta go.”

“The fuck…,” Ian stood up and glanced toward the window.  It was pitch black out and probably freezing. “What the…”

“It’s the boiler at Fiona’s building.” Mickey said as he walked into their room, yanking off the ratty sweats he’d been wearing and throwing on a pair of utilitarian work pants.  Ian followed behind him, tucking his flagging erection back into his own pants as a mulish expression turned his lips down.  

“I thought you told her to fix that shit.”

“Yeah, I did and she’s trying but that shit’s expensive.  We gotta baby it through until President’s Day.”

“President’s Day?

“Yeah,” Mickey grabbed his boots out of the closet and started fighting with the laces, “Sales and shit.”

“Sales and…”Ian trailed off, suddenly annoyed in the face of mature responsibility. “Fuuuuccckkk,” he muttered again, leaning back against the wall.  

From his seat on the bed, Mickey smirked up at him.  “You know, this ain’t the goddamned tragedy it once was, right?  I mean, I don’t wanna leave your dick anymore than you want my ass to leave it, but fuck.  We can just pick up where we left off later.”  He stood up and strode over to where Ian pouted against the door frame, “because we live together,” he continued with mock seriousness.  He twirled around, gesturing with his arms wide, “in our own place and shit.”

He leaned close, pressing against Ian’s chest and staring up.  The redhead was trying to keep ahold of his aggravation but Mickey could see a smile tugging at his lips.

“So, I gotta go.” he murmured up at Ian in a teasing voice.  “Gotta go keep the money sources running so we can keep our nice warm apartment with all the hot water for the shower you love to fuck me in.”

That did it.  Ian’s eyes closed and a full smile spread across his face.

“I’ll come with you,” he offered as Mickey kissed the corner of his mouth and stepped into the hallway.

“Dude, you have a twelve hour shift at six am,” the brunette muttered as he zippered his work coat.  “You need to get some fucking sleep.”

Ian sighed.  “I know, but…”

“Christ, I’ll let you fuck me twice tomorrow,” Mickey snapped, though the mischief in his tone belied the edge in the words.

Ian just snorted.  “Three times.”

“Greedy bitch.”  Mickey pulled on his second glove and fixed his hat over his ears.  “Fine.”  He gave Ian a final, deeper kiss and turned towards the door.  “I’ll text on my way home.”  And he was gone.

Ian stared at the door for a moment, the last tendrils of annoyance dying away under the echo of Mickey’s last word.  Home.  Mickey’d text him on  his way home.  Their home.

Ian smiled and headed back to the couch.  

 

**February 12th**

Mickey could feel his stomach flutter with nerves as he glanced around.  He couldn’t contain a grimace as he glanced around the restaurant’s flashy interior.  The navy suit Mandy had forced on him made him feel awkward as hell, but at least his sister had been pretty damned insistent that he looked great in it.  

She’d been equally relentless about getting Ian into the dark gray one she’d gotten him, and she’d definitely been right about that, but so what.  Ian was hot as fuck; he always looked good.  But when he stared over the top of the little table and caught the hungry look in the redhead’s eyes, he couldn’t help the jolt of confidence that ran through him, drowning out the rest of his discomfort.

“You like what you see,” he teased, pretending to look at the menu in front of him.  Across the table, Ian quirked a brow.  

“Mandy has good taste.”

Mickey rubbed at the sleeve, “Yeah, I gotta get her to stop buying me shit all the time.”

Ian nodded as he sipped his beer.  From some fancy glass with a fucking stem.  Mickey wasn’t sure how he felt about that shit.  “Don’t push it too hard, Mick,” the redhead said, holding his gaze across the little table. “It makes her feel good.”

“Yeah, cause she thinks she owes me something.” Mickey sighed, not wanting to bring down the mood.  “Sorry, I just don’t want her thinking that shit.”

Ian stared at him intently.  “I know. I’m just saying, like, don’t rush it.  She wants you happy, us happy.  This is part of her being all protective as hell about us.  Trust me, I’m used to it.”

Mickey offered a mock grimace.  “Great, so she’s turning into Fiona.”

“Fi’s not so bad,” Ian peered down at his own menu. “Besides, Mands should keep dressing you.  She keeps you looking cute.”

Ian shot him a cocky grin when Mickey flipped him off.  He glanced around, pulling his hand down quickly, but no one else in the fancy ass dining room was paying them attention. “I can dress my own ass, thanks,” he muttered with a grin.

Ian just snorted at him.  “No you can’t.”

“Fuck you.”

“Later.”  The redhead said with a smile.

It was contagious.  Mickey could feel the grin spreading across his face as he stared into his boyfriend’s eyes.  This wasn’t that bad.  Not at all.  It was still just them, bullshitting together over  beers, even if they were expensive ass beers in fucking wine glasses.     


“You know, I’d have been happy at Sizzler,” he stated as he glanced back down at the menu.

Ian just shook his head.“Just wait.  I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

“How’d you know about this place.”

“One of my old “geriatric viagroids” brought me here once.”

Now it was Mickey’s turn to snort. “Christ, not…”

“No, no.  Not him. Some other guy.  Don’t even remember his name.”

“Couldn’t have made much of a fucking impression.”

“He didn’t but the place did.  Just trust me, okay.  The prime rib’s gonna make you cry.”

“It better make me fly for these fucking prices.”

“Hey,” Ian leaned toward him, catching his eyes, “We can actually afford this.  You know, like, once a year.”

Mickey nodded.  “So, we’ll have a date every Valentine’s Day.  Or, you know, two days before Valentine’s day.”

“Gotta work, man.”

“It’s really that fucking nuts?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it.  All night.  And it’s all like, crazy shit.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mickey leaned back in his chair. “Like what?”

Ian just shook his head.  “Let’s order and I’ll tell you some stories.”

“Kay,” Mickey glanced around them.  “This isn’t so bad.”

“Were you really worried?” There was a tinge of genuine concern in Ian’s voice.

“No, it’s just, you’ve done this shit before, you know.” he glanced back a little sheepishly at the green gaze across the table.

“I haven’t, though.  Not really.”

“Oh bullshit…”

“No, I mean it.  Like, with the old guys, it was always more of a shady client relationship. It wasn’t real.  And then, Trevor and I always kept shit so casual.  Oh, and I went on one real date with um, you know…”

“Fuckhead Firefighter?”

Ian grinned and glanced down. “Yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head, “and that was a fucking shit show.”  He glanced back up and caught Mickey’s eyes, staring intently across the little table.  “So, this is the first time I’ve ever gone on a really nice date with someone I loved and wanted to be with.”  He leaned forward, keeping his gaze fixed on Mickey, “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Mickey managed as his lips curled up at the corners, “Yeah, okay.”  He leaned forward too, pulled in by Ian’s eyes.

“Gentlemen, can I interest you in our specials this evening?”

_ Fuck _

Mickey bit back his curse as Ian grinned at him and turned towards the waiter.

Later, when Mickey took the first bite of his steak, he closed his eyes and moaned out loud.

“Still want to go to Sizzler?” Ian quipped from across the table.

Mickey just flipped him off and kept on chewing.  

 

**March 3rd**

Ian Gallagher loved their new bed.  He loved sleeping in it, curled up around his boyfriend’s warm body.  He loved sprawling across it, reading or talking or screwing around on his phone.

And he loved fucking in it.

Yeah, true, he and Mickey had never had any problem fucking anywhere, anytime.  That unique ability was the sole foundation for their entire early relationship.  But as good as that could be, and there were times when it  _ had  _ been really goddamned good, this was so, so much better.

Ian rolled his shoulders into the sheets, relishing the softness as he stared up at the brunette above him.  Mickey was gone, he was so fucking gone, and Ian just loved the hell out that, too.  Mickey was astride him, leaning back into an arch as his hips rolled in slow, powerful thrusts.  Ian could feel the grip of the brunette’s fingertips as they dug into the tops of his thighs.  The blue eyes were open but glazed, staring but not seeing as cries poured out of his throat in perfect tandem with his strides.  Ian ground his teeth into his lip and fisted the pillow beneath his head, holding his own pleasure in check so he could keep enjoying the show.  He knew how this went.  Mickey was using his dick, teasing himself on it with his slow, snapping movements.  But the glassy gaze and unabashed keens were a telltale signs that Mickey was ready for the real shit.  It meant that Ian was about to get ridden like a fucking rodeo bull, and that Mickey would be loud as hell while doing it.  

The thought made his whole face split into a smile.

It had taken him a while to fully understand why it mattered so much to him that they be loud during sex.  The easy answer, of course, was that he found Mickey’s unguarded moans and cries sexy as fuck, but even as each sound made his dick hot, they also warmed his heart.  Mickey had been so tightly closed off for so long that it had felt like an epic victory each time they’d breached an inhibition together:  The first time they’d kissed, the first time they’d fucked face to face, the first time Mickey had pushed him down on the bed and taken control.  But for years, no matter what else they overcame, Mickey had never been able to let go of the need to be silent during sex.  It was his last, longest, and most formidable hangup.

Ian had never argued.  From a logistical standpoint, there’d always been so many people living with them that keeping the noise down had been a necessity anyway.  But Ian had always known that it was more than that, that Mickey’s silence had been the last stronghold of the shame and self-loathing that Terry Milkovich had beat and terrorized into him.  He’d first realized this years ago, back when they were still living the dysfunctional family life in the Milkovich funhouse, but there’d been no opportunity to address it then, not with the world always crashing down around them.  

That had all changed, though,  on the night after Mickey’s testimony.  Ian wasn’t sure if it was the the roiling emotions, the newly acquired privacy, or the fact that kicking his father straight in the face had finally, finally set him free, but the brunette had let sounds pour out of him that night that had driven Ian half crazy with love and lust. 

He’d craved those sounds ever since.  Hell, most of his attention and energy when they fucked went towards milking those keens and wails out of the love of his life, the louder the better.  They turned him on and lifted his spirit because each one was a reminder that his boyfriend finally felt free.

Mickey had tucked his feet under Ian’s thighs for leverage and he leaned down to press a hard kiss against Ian’s lips as the speed of his thrusts ramped up.  Pulling back, the brunette braced his hands on the headboard, fucking himself onto Ian’s cock in earnest as the redhead let his fingertips drift all over his shoulders, chest and abs.  His hands settle on the globes of Mickey’s ass, loving the feel of the firm muscles as they moved beneath the skin.  The brunette sank down, arching over him and wrapping both arms around the back of his neck.  He pressed their foreheads together and managed to latch his lust blown eyes onto Ian’s green gaze but all the while, he never stopped his frantic movement.  

When Mickey came, he shut his eyes.  His mouth wrenched open and a deliciously sweet, high cry escaped his throat.  His hips stuttered and thrashed and Ian could feel the warm release as it splashed over his stomach.  The grin that split his lips was wicked and his hands tightened instinctively around Mickey’s ass as he thrust up playfully inside the other man.  Mickey didn’t fight.  He loved that shit, loved being teased and tortured through his aftershocks.  When Ian slid his hands up to the brunette’s lower back and flipped them over in one fluid motion, Mickey went easily.  

Ian pressed a quick kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, then sat back on splayed knees as he pulled Mickey’s thighs high and wide around his waist.  As he began to roll his hips, he could see the brunette’s mouth fall open as his eyes screwed shut.  The view brought a mischievous smile to his lips.

Mickey was going to make some more noise before the night was over.  Ian guaranteed it.

 

**April 14th**

“Mickey, you’ve seen the fucking statistics.  You  _ know _ how many people fail the first time.”

“You fucking didn’t.”

“Yeah, because I had nothing else going on in my life.  I was working one shitty, part-time job.”

“Yeah, and trying to get your meds and shit straight.  And dealing with the fire fucker and all his bullshit.”

“Mickey, Jesus...We are not fucking fighting about this.  Yeah, I was having a shit year and I still passed.  So fucking what!  Nothing,  _ nothing,  _ even in our incredibly fucked collective life experiences, could compare to the shit show that was the last year.  And you’re trying to tell me that after all of that, you think anyone’s gonna fucking judge you over a GED?  You failed a test!  After your shitfuck father tried to fucking kill us.  Don’t you think you had a pretty good excuse?”

“ _ Fuck.” _

“What?  Talk to me.”

“I just...Fuck! I just don’t want him around anymore.  I want him gone.  I don’t want him to be the fucking excuse.  It means he’s still fucking shit up, even after he’s dead!”

“Yeah.  I know.  I get that, okay.  I want him gone, too, but we have to be realistic…”

“Oh, fuck realistic!”

“No!  Okay, no, because that’s not fair to you or me.  We don’t just ignore shit and pretend it didn’t happen.  That’s the fucking unhealthy bullshit we’re not supposed to do anymore.”

“...”

“Mick?  C’mon, Mickey.”

“Alright!  Fuck!  Fuck...dammit, I’m...I’m sorry, okay, I’m just...I know.  Doesn’t mean I fucking like it.”

“Yeah.  Me neither.  It sucks a lot of the time but you know it’s making us better.”

“Yeah...yeah, I know.”

“Listen, we’ll study this shit again.  You just take it again.  But we’re not worrying about it tonight.  Just pick a dumb movie and we’ll chill, okay?”

“Yeah, alright...I mean, do you really think…”

“Yeah, Mickey, I really fucking think...no, fuck that, I really fucking know, okay.  I know you can.  Because I believe in you and shit.”

“Oh, Christ, you corny fucker.”

“Yeah, well, if you put on a movie, it’ll shut my corny ass up.”

“Fine, fuck, whatever, Gallagher.”

“Love you, too.”

 

**May 27th**

There was a crick in Mickey’s neck and a nasty wet spot on his shirt, but despite the discomfort, nothing in the world could’ve compelled him to move.  He leaned back against the couch and gathered his sleeping boyfriend a little closer in his arms.  He could see that the tear tracks staining the redhead’s cheeks were starting to fade.  The starched collar of the EMT uniform was damp and wilted, but they could deal with that later.  Right now, Ian just needed to sleep.

When he woke up, they could talk about what had happened.  Mickey could kind of guess, though.  Ian had lost someone on the rig.  That much he knew.  It would probably turn out to be a particularly bad case.  In fact, Mickey assumed it would be something that had reminded the redhead of one of his siblings.  Or Mandy, or Yev.  

Or Mickey himself.

Ian was usually really good at compartmentalizing the shit he saw on the job.  He couldn’t do the work otherwise.  But every once in a while, something would happen that would shake those carefully maintained boundaries.  Mickey had seen it before.  

So he held Ian tight and let him sleep.  They could talk about it later.

 

**June 7th**

Ian leaned against the window frame in their bedroom, staring out into the back courtyard.  A few of the co-op residents were milling around in the new vegetable garden, but Ian only had eyes for one.  Well, two really.  As he watched, Mickey knelt down behind Yev and took the little guy’s hands, showing him how to pull a weed by the root.  

Ian felt an actual jolt in his heart.  

 

**July 4th**

What the fuck had become of his life?

First, he, Mickey Milkovich, was living with and working for a cooperative of gay Chicago cops and now he was attending family barbeques with his boyfriend’s coworkers.  

He was domesticated as fuck.

“You doing alright?” Ian asked against his throat, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him back against his chest.  He pressed the cold beer he was holding against Mickey’s cheek and the brunette sighed into the sensation.  

“It’s hot as balls out,” Ian muttered.  Mickey felt a grin spread across his lips.

“Thought you told me that saying was dumb.  That balls were cooler than the rest of the body?” he teased.

“Oh, what the fuck ever,” Ian spat back, pulling the beer away to take a sip before passing it to Mickey.  “I don’t want to drink too much of this shit, not when I haven’t slept.”  

Mickey couldn’t help the concerned look he shot the redhead.  “Are you good?  We didn’t need to come over right after your shift ended.  If you want to go home and take a nap…”

“It’s alright.  I’m good, I promise.  I’m still pretty wired from work but I took my meds and I ate.  We can stay awhile and then I can catch some sleep while Yev naps before the fireworks, okay.”  He put his arms back around Mickey’s shoulders and drew him back against his chest, “but no beer.  I’m not gonna push it.”  
“Good,” Mickey replied simply.  He leaned back into his boyfriend’s arms, letting the beer hang, forgotten, in his hand.  

“Mandy and Ron still coming?”

“Yeah.  She’s trying to get Colin to come.”

“No shit?”

Mickey shrugged and glanced up, “Yeah, she wants him to bring some girl he’s been seeing.”

Ian’s lips twisted into an amused smiled, but he looked away suddenly.

“Oh, fuck!”

“What?” Mickey followed Ian’s gaze to a grassy field over to the side, where Sue and a couple of the other EMTs were waving them over.  

“Shit.  They want me to come play horseshoes.” Ian glanced back down at him, “You want to come.”

“Fuck, no,” Mickey elbowed the redhead gently in the chest as he pushed away, “but I’ll come watch you act like an idiot.”

“Oh, screw you.  I’ll be awesome.”

“We’ll see, Gallagher.” He smiled warmly, then took a look around the field. 

“He’s over there,” Ian nodded towards Yev, running around with a bunch of other kids, chasing the giant bubbles some poor sucker was blowing for them.

“Gonna get him something to eat so Svet doesn’t kill me.  Then we’ll come watch.” He leaned up into the kiss Ian brushed on his lips as he headed over to his friends.

Mickey shook his head as he grabbed a styrofoam plate and made sure to shove some cucumber slices and baby carrots onto it before throwing chips and a hot dog onto the rest of the empty space.  He waved Yevgeny over and plunked the plate down in front of the kid.  

“Start with the carrots,” he muttered automatically as he pulled the hotdog into smaller pieces.  When he noticed what he was doing, he just shook his head.

So fucking domestic, he thought.

Then he smiled.

 

**August 20th**

The freezer air felt great against his flushed face.  Mickey stared absently at the white film of frost on the shit that was already crowding up the shelf.  Glancing at the counter, he examined the chicken and chopped meat that needed a home.  But fuck it.  All he really wanted to do was shove all the crap inside wherever it would fit and then walk away.  Who gave a fuck about obsessive organization?

The answer to that question walked into the kitchen a second later.

“We really need to get a grocery cart or some shit,” the redhead muttered as he carried two more bags inside and put them on the kitchen table.  

“Yeah, great,” Mickey snapped, averting his eyes as he started shifting food around in the freezer, “then we can really look like a couple of fucking old ladies.”

“So that’s your limit? No grocery carts?”

“No fucking grocery carts!” The words came out harshly, and he could hear Ian draw in a breath behind him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care.  It wasn’t like anything he said mattered anyway.

“Alright,” Ian groused, sounding as annoyed as Mickey felt, “It’s just…”

“Yeah, of course.”  Mickey could hear real anger in his voice now so he grabbed up one of the bags and began yanking shit out of it.  “Of course.  I tell you how I feel, you do what you want anyway.  Whatever.  Get a fucking grocery cart.”

“Mickey, Christ,” Ian stated, his voice angry but imploring, “is this still about the fucking peanut butter?”

“Sure, Ian,” Mickey snarled, “that’s right.  It’s about fucking peanut butter.”  He slammed the cabinet shut with a crack, red rage bleeding across his vision as he turned to face the other man, ready to do battle, but the shock on Ian’s face froze him in his tracks.  Nope, he couldn’t do this shit.  He wasn’t even allowed to have opinions.  He sure as fuck wasn’t allowed to get angry.  No fucking boat rocking.  

A nauseating wave of impotent panic suddenly rushed over him.  He couldn’t do this shit.  He couldn’t lose by default forever.  A second wave, this one of cold horror, settled into his stomach and he felt a humiliating prickle of tears in his eyes.  He caught a hint of panic in Ian’s own eyes as he turned and rushed into the bathroom, snibbing the lock behind him as he sank to the floor.

*****************************************

“Mick?”

Mickey startled awake on the tile floor and let his head fall sideways.  He could see Ian’s feet through the crack at the bottom of the door.  He rolled back until he could stare up at the ceiling again.  He never did shit like this, never hid away from any kind of fight, but this was Ian and it was different.  There was no winning here.  There was only losing or losing badly so what was the point?  

“Mick?” the voice came through the door again. “I know you’re pissed and don’t want to fucking look at me right now, but if I talk, will you listen?”

He grunted some affirmation.  Fucker would do what he wanted anyway.  Why argue.

“Okay,” Ian replied, but there was a hesitancy in his voice that pierced through Mickey’s anger and ate at his heart.  He didn’t want Ian to sound like that.  And that, of course, was why he could never fucking win.

“It’s not about the peanut butter.  I get that.  It’s about the power thing again.  You feel like I’m trying to control everything again right?  And that you don’t get to tell me no or I’ll go manic or leave or some shit?  I’m sorry, okay.  I’m really, really fucking sorry.  I don’t try to get like this but I’m always so fucking scared that I’m going to lose my shit, like I’m always waiting for the next shoe to drop and…”

His voice trailed off for a moment and Mickey felt himself sit up involuntarily.  Shit, fuck, this didn’t sound good. Ian didn’t sound good.  His fingers were reaching for the door handle when he heard the redhead take a deep breath and continue.

“I’ve lived with Fiona for years.  Even as everyone came home and left again, I was there, in the house I’d always lived in.  I knew the systems and the order of things, even if they were fucked up systems and orders.  And Fiona was so glad I was doing okay so she was always pretty accommodating to me, for the most part.  She and Liam just adjusted our system to my specifications.  So everything was pretty much exactly how I wanted it to be and I got used that.

I sound like an asshole when I say that.  I don’t think I really was, exactly.  I mean, I don’t think they really gave much of shit one way or another.  But, like, we’re different, you and me.  I’ve fucked up with my family and they’ve fucked up with me but even all of that bullshit can’t compare to what you and I’ve had to get through.”  

There was a creak in the wood as Ian leaned against the door.  Mickey fingers itched to turn the lock but he took a deep breath and waited.  Ian needed to get this shit out.  And he wasn’t sure he could hear it face to face.

“I get that this isn’t about fucking peanut butter, okay.  Of course it isn’t.  I think its about me pushing for my way without even thinking about it and you being afraid to tell me you’re pissed and frustrated because you think it’s gonna push me over the edge or something.  Fuck, now I sound like a shrink.”

“You talk to your shrink a lot.  You know how they sound.”  The words were out of Mickey’s mouth before he realized it but they only drew a quiet laugh from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, I guess.” came the tired reply. “Look, I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry for this shit…”

“Ian…”

“Wait, Mick.  Please.  Do you really want to do this through a fucking door?”

Did he?  No, not really.  His anger, so raw only minutes ago, was fading fast.  But it wasn’t gone yet.  

“I need a minute,” he murmured, staring at his hands.

“That’s fine,” Ian said, his voice both plaintive and relieved, “Stay in there as long as you need, okay.  I’ll wait.  But then please come talk to me?  I’m not...I’m not as fucking delicate as everyone thinks.  And you deserve to have opinions and I promise to listen and stop just assuming that shit needs to be done a certain way, okay.  But, just, let me know when you’re out.  Please.”

Mickey sat in silence as another creak echoed through the door.  He could hear the familiar cadence of Ian’s footsteps as he walked down the hall.  Mickey sighed and stared at his hands for long minutes.  Talk.  They needed to talk.  Resolve their differences and shit.  It seemed like they did this all the fucking time, but really, what the hell did he know?  Every conflict in his entire life had been solved through violence or avoidance before he’d met Ian.  And even though he hated to admit it, the talking thing was the better way to work shit out. 

With a sigh, he stood up and opened the door.

There was a jar with a blue lid sitting on the floor in the hallway.  He leaned down and picked it up.

Creamy peanut butter.

Mickey closed his eyes.  Fucking idiot, he thought.

But he felt lighter.  

 

**September 2nd**

They were drunk.  

Wow, yeah, they were pretty drunk.  Not wrecked and sloppy drunk, but giddy and playful.  Ian loved this kind of drunk, especially when it involved a smiling, clingy Mickey.  

The music and strobe lights in the club had begun to drag him back in time for a moment and he’d felt the bad memories start to engulf him but his slightly punchy and temporarily uninhibited boyfriend wasn’t having any of that shit.

“I can see you thinking,” he’d growled, pressing himself between Ian’s thighs on the barstool and whispering into his ear, “Don’t think about this shit.  This ain’t even Boystown.  Ain’t the fucking Fairytale.  It’s just us having fun with friends.  Right?  Isn’t that what you said?”

Mickey had licked at the shell of his ear and all of Ian’s maudlin had simply melted away.  Instead he’d just grinned and chased down Mickey’s lips.  The brunette was right.  This was supposed to a fun night out.  This wasn’t some shady shithole.  It was just a club and the people all around him were just there to have fun.  Hell, Tony was with them tonight.  It couldn’t get more straight-laced than that.  Breaking the kiss, Ian let his eyes flit around the room for a moment, then pressed his brow to Mickey’s and slid off the bar stool.  

“Come with me,” he murmured against the brunette’s mouth as he walked them backwards.

Mickey went easily and Ian wasn’t about to argue his good fortune.  He guided them forward, nipping along Mickey’s jaw until he found an ear.

“Dance with me?”

Mickey didn’t tense up or push away, as he’d feared.  Instead, he just rolled his eyes drunkenly and shook his head as Ian continued to propel them towards the flashing lights of the dance floor.  

“Can’t fucking dance,” Mickey muttered, but his voice was playfully resigned.  

“How the fuck would you even know that?” Ian asked as he guided them into the middle of the crowd and pulled the other man close.  Mickey melted against him and Ian couldn’t contain the triumphant smile that split his lips as the brunette let him mold and sway their bodies together.  

“See,” he whispered, “We’re dancing now.”

“You call this shit dancing?” Mickey snarked, the good humor still evident in his tone. 

“Hell, yeah,” Ian bit back, “just close your eyes and stay with me.”

“Close my…”Mickey’s words died on his lips and his eyelids fell as Ian pressed them closer, resting one huge hand at the curve of the brunette’s ass and the other between his shoulder blades.  Mickey leaned into him, wrapping both arms around the back of his neck as their bodies rippled together to the music.

Ian couldn’t contain a smirk.  He should’ve known Mickey could dance.  Be it in bed, running from the cops, winning a fight, or evading a three year old in a game of tag, Mickey was one of the most physically agile people he knew.  But he was also the most self-conscious, always assuming that everyone around him was watching and judging.  

Well, they were sure as fuck judging him now, and if the hungry looks all around them were anything to go by, Mickey was passing the test with flying colors.  

“Hey,” he whispered against the brunette’s temple, “everyone in here wants to eat you with a spoon.  

“The fuck you talking…”Mickey trailed off as he glanced around.  Ian could feel a knot of tension start to form between the shorter man’s shoulder blades and he attacked it with his fingers, rubbing in soothing circles.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured.  “I’m not trying to freak you out.”

“Oh, no.” Mickey growled, quirking an eyebrow at him, “then what you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly, licking at the brunette’s lips, “Maybe I just want you to know that a lot of the world never thought there was anything wrong with us.” He pulled Mickey even closer, rocking their hips together as their eyes locked.  “Maybe I want you to realize that there’s literally rooms full of people out there who never thought you were a freak.  And they think you’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Oh yeah,” Mickey grinned up at him easily, “And you.  Do you think I’m fucking gorgeous.”

Ian didn’t answer.  He drew his hands up and cupped the brunette’s face, running his gaze all over it assessingly.  

“Yeah,” he breathed, letting himself fall into Mickey’s blue eyes.  “Yeah, I think you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Mickey pressed a long kiss to his lips.  “That’s all I fucking need.”

 

**October 19th**

“Wait, wait, hold the fuck on a second.  You’re trying to tell me that this kid is Vee’s sister that you had with Vee’s mom.  Damn.  I mean, that’s pretty fucked, even by our standards.”  Mickey turned to stare down the aisle at the assortment of kids he and Kev had been forced to drag to the store for Halloween shopping, “How the hell have I not heard this story?”

“Oh, clutch your fucking pearls, why don’t you,” Kev muttered from beside him as they pawed through the racks of costumes.  Twenty feet away, Mickey could see the three little girls playing with some automated coffin display.  “It’s a long ass story and not nearly as weird as it sounds.”

“Alright, alright,” Mickey shot the taller man a teasing grin, then glanced around for his own progeny.  “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Kev came up beside him and the two men starred as the little blond boy picked a convict costume off the shelf.  “Oh, shit!”

“Jesus Christ!  Last year he was Superman.  What’s this bullshit.” Mickey blathered to know one in particular.  Because no, hell no, heellllll no!  His kid was not dressing up as a fucking criminal for Halloween.  

“Dude, would you chill out?” Kev muttered from beside him.  “What are you freaking out about?”

“Seriously.  You’re seriously asking me that.”  Mickey sputtered in indignation.  “There is no fucking way I’m letting my kid dress up like a goddamned criminal.”  He turned and took three steps back, winding his way around a corner as Kev followed.  “If he thinks that shit is cool, it’s probably because of me.  Because he knows I’ve been locked up.  And I don’t want him thinking there’s anything cool with that shit, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Mickey shot Kev a scathing look. “What the fuck does that even…”

“Dude!  Would you go to a happy place or some shit for a minute.  Seriously.  Chill the hell out.” Mickey watched as the big lunk backed up and glanced around the edge of the aisle, taking stock of the kids.  He wrung his hands as he watched Kev count all four before whipping his head back around the corner.  

“Okay, I can’t leave them alone for long because they’ll manage to break the store, so listen up.  You don’t want him to think that shit?  Then talk to him.  Talk to him about the stuff you think matters.  Talk to him about the stuff you want him to get out of life.  And then just keep doing what you’re doing?”

“What the fuck am I doing?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe showing him that you can do other cool shit that doesn’t involve being imprisoned.”

“I’m a fucking handyman.” Mickey muttered, feeling a sick knot form in his stomach.

“And I’m a bartender,” Kev shot back, “But my girls fucking adore me.  Just like your kid adores you.  Because you love him and spend time with him and generally give a shit about him.  I’m not saying being a good dad’s easy but it also sure as shit ain’t too complicated.  It mostly comes down to giving a fuck.  Do you give a fuck?”

Mickey could feel the burn in his eyes as he glared at the taller man but Kev was already heading back around the corner.

Shit.

He followed quickly, barely glancing at Kev and the gaggle of little girls as he headed towards his kid.  

“Whatcha looking at, bud?” he asked carefully, crouching down next to the little man.  

“I want to be this.” Yev said, turning towards him and holding the costume out.  

Mickey could see the hopefulness in his kid’s eyes, the longing for approval, and it stabbed at his heart.  He could feel every insecurity, every thought he’d ever had about failing as a dad, welling up inside of him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kev playfully wrangling his girls and forced himself to take a deep breath.  Jesus fuck, the big man was right, this wasn’t that complicated.  Hard, yeah, but not complicated.  He didn’t need to be a bastard or a fucking drama queen.  He just needed to talk to his kid.  

Reaching out, he pulled the little boy into a side hug.

“Why you want to be that?”

“You were in jail.  I want to be you.”

And the knife twisted a little deeper.

“Buddy, I was in jail.  You’re right.  But it wasn’t so great.  In fact, it was so bad that I ran away.”  He pulled the kid around to face, laying a hand on each shoulder.  “I don’t  _ ever _ want you to be in jail.”

Yev’s big eyes were wide and unsure.  “Why were you there then?” he asked in a trembling voice.  

“I made some really bad choices,” Mickey answered honestly, “and I don’t mind telling you about them, but not now, okay.  I want you to wait a little while, but I promise you that when you’re older, I’ll answer all of your questions.”

Yev studied him carefully for a long moment.  “Pinky promise,” he asked in a serious voice.

Mickey grinned, “I pinky promise,” he replied, letting the little guy hook their pinkies together and shake.  

“Okay,” Yev said, surveying the shelves while Mickey quickly hung the costume out of sight.  “What can I be then.  You’re a fixer, too.  Can I be a fixer?”

Mickey smiled and this time it felt lighter, easier.  A fixer.  He liked that a hell of a lot better.  “How about this.  For Christmas, what if Ian and I get you a tool set like mine, okay.  I can teach you how to be a fixer.”

Yev’s eyes lit up and he nodded as Mickey grabbed his hand and pulled him down the aisle.  “But for Halloween, how about…,” Mickey glanced around, darting towards a shelf, “How about these guys?  I loved them when I was little.”

“Yes!” Yev shrieked, grabbing the costumes, “I love Ninja Turtles.” He turned to lock his gaze on Mickey’s, “You loved the Ninja Turtles?”

“I still do, bud.  I still do.”

  
  


**November 10th**

The Alibi looked different from this angle.  Mickey was actually pretty damned sure that he’d never personally sat in any of the booths, at least during regular business hours.  And he was definitely sure that his brother had never asked him to meet him for a drink before.  But tonight was a night for new experiences, it seemed.  

Glancing at the bar, he watched Colin head toward him with two beers.  What the fuck was this about?

“No Ian?” his brother asked, sliding across from him and pushing a glass his way.

“Working,” he answered before taking a sip, “Besides, I thought you wanted to talk about private shit.  You in trouble?”

“I’ve been on the straight and narrow a hell of a lot longer than you, little brother,” Colin stated pointedly, quirking a brow as he stared across the table.  Mickey could only nod at the true words.

“Fair enough,” he answered, “So what then.”

Colin’s bravado fell away fast.  “It’s Kori”

“Your girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Your girl that we still haven’t met?”

“That’s my fucking problem!  She wants us to start...ah fuck!”

Mickey watched his brother carefully as the elder Milkovich took a long sip of his beer and leaned back against the booth.  He wasn’t sure where this was going.  He was close to Mandy and had always been kind of tight with Iggy, but the rest of is siblings had displayed a fierce tribalistic loyalty that had been deep but narrowly focused.  They sure as fuck didn’t do emotions, but Mickey somehow felt that this conversation was heading that way.  

“How the did you meet Ian’s family?  Like how the fuck did you do that?”

“How did I…meet… the fuck you talking about, man?” Mickey could feel his face screw up incredulously.  “I met them the same way you did.  They were just, like, there.  Same as us.”  He shook his head and took a sip of his beer, letting some of the memories run through his mind.  “I mean, I fought Lip over some graham crackers in first grade.  He sold us some term papers.  Oh, I think Iggy might’ve sold Carl some flamethrowers once.”  He smiled across the table at his brother.  “Not the same kind of thing as what you’re talking about, man.”

Colin only shot him a withering glare.  “Thanks, shithead, I know that.  But there were steps, weren’t there, between kicking their asses and being in the family?”  His blue eyes turned hopeful and it made Mickey’s heart clench.  Fuck.  He knew what Colin was looking for and he wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t.  He was a part of the Gallagher family.  He knew what it looked like when brothers talked about shit and helped each other out.  He could probably blame Lip for that. 

“I don’t got any magic answers for you, man,” he stated, meeting Colin’s eyes.  “I just fell into this shit.  Well, actually it’s more like they dragged me in because that’s what they do, but still.”  He glanced around the room for a moment.  “Does this feel weird to you?  Us talking like this?”

Colin shifted in his seat.  “Weird as hell.”

“Okay, well, remember this feeling.  It’s weird, right, but is it bad?”

Colin glanced down at the table and Mickey could see him mulling over the question.  “It’s not bad,” he answered slowly, “but this is the shit I don’t know how to do.”

“Exactly.  This is the shit we don’t know how to do.  We have no fucking context for this.  We never talked about anything.  Our whole lives involved pleasing a psycho to avoid a beatdown.  But we don’t have to worry about that shit anymore.”

Mickey paused for a moment, biting his tongue as Colin’s hand rose instinctively to the sleeve that covered the old bullet wound.  “Sorry man,” he muttered sheepishly but Colin just shook his head.  

“Fucker’s dead.  We don’t have to say sorry about him anymore.”  Mickey could see some of the tension leach out of his brother’s shoulders as the other man let his fingers drum on the table.  “So, it’s just a lot of talking?  Does it get easier?”

Mickey nodded slowly, thinking about the truth in his answer.  “It gets easier.  But, the thing is, it actually makes shit better.”  He took another sip and forced himself to meet his brother’s gaze again.  “I avoided this shit for so long.  For years.  But he’d never let me.  And now I wouldn’t even know how to go back.  It feels almost normal, most of the time.

So start with that,” he went on, leaning back again.  “Start by talking to her about some of this shit.  Tell her you’re freaked out and not so good at family.”

“I’ve told her some shit already,” Colin admitted.

Mickey only nodded and took another sip of his beer.  “See,” he said pointedly, “you already knew the answer.”

“Talking?”

“Yup.”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty much.”

 

**December 24th**

Ian could feel the tears on his cheeks.  He could feel the racing of his heart.  He could feel the same couch cushions that had been in his family’s house his whole life giving under his hands as he dug his fingers into them and held on.  

He could see Mickey sitting on the old coffee table, talking quietly to a sobbing Mandy, slumped in the armchair.  He could hear the gulps of air that his best friend was trying to draw in.  

Ian couldn’t move.  Vaguely, he could hear the chatter of his family back in the kitchen, but right now, all of him was a ball of emotion.  All he could think about was what Mandy had just told them.  What Ron had just done.  

The front door to the Gallagher house flew open and the man in question walked in, his own face tear streaked.

Ian didn’t hesitate.  He took three steps forward and grabbed the other man in a huge bear hug.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed. “Fucking Congratulations.”  He could feel Ron’s arms creeping around him and hugging him back.  

“I see you couldn’t wait for me,” the other man scolded tenderly as he pulled back from Ian and turned an adoring gaze on Mandy.  She didn’t even try to speak.  She just gestured at her tear soaked face and shrugged her shoulders.  The movement caused the light to catch and dance off of the diamond ring on her left hand.  

People were suddenly all around them, hugging and squealing in a giant, congratulatory din.  Ian let himself bask in the warm feelings as beer was opened and music was started.  As a Gallagher celebration ramped up through the living room, he took a few steps back, reaching out and drawing Mickey back against his chest.  

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered into his ear.

Mickey turned and looked up at him with eyes that seemed truly unburdened.  

“Merry fucking Christmas,” he answered back with a smirk.  

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: The peanut butter incident is based on a real experience which turned into a relationship defining experience with my own SO.


End file.
